How Bobby Drake Single Handedly Defied and
by Mika-chan
Summary: ...Vanquished the Evil Fluvir while Everyone Else Lay Sick and Miserable in Bed Because Bobby Drake was Just That Awesome. Original X-men team. Everyone in the mansion has caught the flu. Everyone except Bobby.


**A/N: **I thought I was being clever (yea, not really, more like lazy ha) calling the flu "Fluvir" in here, but apparently it's the brand name of the drug used against Avian flu, which the X-men do not have in this story (just the ordinary flu). I'm too stubborn to change it though. Fluvir rolls off the tongue more easily than Virflu.

Anyway, first (and probably only) X-men fic ever. It's a silly piece I wrote for fun. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

How Bobby Drake Single-handedly Defied and/or (definitely and) Vanquished the Evil Fluvir while Everyone Else Lay Sick and Miserable in Bed Because Bobby Drake was Just That Awesome

Bobby sat atop a stool by the kitchen counter, legs idly swinging back and forth as he watched the chicken soup simmer on the stove. The occasional bubbling of the broth indicated that it was hot, but Jean had insisted it be warmed for at least twenty minutes. Bobby sighed, bemoaning the fact that he was the only mutant of the five who had not gotten the flu. To add insult to injury, the professor was away in Washington for some business or other (Bobby wasn't listening) and he had to do all the work.

Bobby wondered, as he got up and began using cool pieces of lettuce to skim the fat off from the chicken soup (ew), if this was some form of karmic payback for icing all of Warren's boxers last month. If Warren were to say so, Bobby's comeuppance would have landed him in bed with fever and aches and pains throughout _his_ body and not Warren's.

Still, it wasn't that bad, really, having to take care of everyone. As the youngest X-men, he was always the one taken care of and Bobby couldn't remember a time when he was thanked so much in his life. Jean even smiled that special smile she usually reserved for Scott when Bobby had taken the initiative to fluff her pillows. Bobby wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it made his heart swell in delight.

Scooping up a hearty amount of noodles into one of the four bowls beside the stove, he covered the pot again before carrying the bowl carefully to the awaiting serving tray. He eyed the items on the tray, mentally checking off every item in his head before nodding once in satisfaction and proceeding up to the second floor.

After reaching the third door on the left, he turned around and proceeded to knock on the door with the back of his head (Bobby was so clever sometimes, it was scary). He heard the telltale sigh and took it for the 'come in' as he was sure he was meant to.

Scott eyed him tiredly, his head being the only part of his body visible due to the blue comforter he laid under. "Bobby, you can knock using the tray you know," the elder teen rasped.

Bobby grinned as he walked fully into the room and placed the tray down on Scott's desk. He then turned and helped Scott up into a seated position, placing one of his pillows behind his back. "And risk spilling some of your soup? Nope. Nuh uh. No thanks. I will take my chances with my head."

Scott sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair in an attempt to brush the annoying locks out of his face. His fever broke the night before and he was beginning to feel almost human again much to his relief. These two weeks were supposed to be fun. With the Professor away, he was left in charge and had set about devising a surefire way to act on his crush on Jean (which primarily consisted of him gathering enough courage within this timeframe to ask her out to dinner and if he was really brave, a movie). Warren and Hank didn't need much looking after (and resented it. The former more than the latter) and Bobby just needed some ice cream, comics, and Hank to be occupied. It was going to be perfect, that is, until they all caught that damned viral flu. Correction, all except for Bobby, who was actually doing a pretty good job of looking after them all. He would have to let the Professor know when he got back, though he was pretty sure the older man knew already. Still, it never hurt to be thorough.

"Scott? Hello~ Anyone in there?"

Scott blinked at the waving hand in front of his face and saw Bobby doing a poor job of concealing his concern behind a smile. He coughed and Bobby instinctually jumped back, crossing both forefingers into an X. Scott rolled his eyes. "If you haven't caught it by now, Bobby, I think you're safe," the older boy pointed out.

Bobby warily lowered his hands. "You can't be too safe, Scotty."

"Don't call me that," was Scott's automatic reply as he took up his spoon, but paused as he stared down at his tray. Two packets of oyster crackers lay innocently beside his bowl and he glanced at Bobby who just as quickly glanced up to the ceiling.

Oyster crackers. Scott loved oyster crackers in his soup, but also knew for a fact that there weren't any in the mansion. He knew this because the first time he was able to keep anything down and was presented soup, he requested them, but Bobby said he couldn't find any. Oyster crackers did not magically appear. Oyster crackers meant venturing out of the compound and to the supermarket. Three miles away. Alone. When you were thirteen years old. "Bobby..."

"Hmm, what?" Bobby craned his head towards the door. "Oh! I think I hear Warren bellowing. He must be hungry. Gotta go!"

"Bobby!"

Bobby skidded to a stop at the threshold of Scott's door, unable to ignore that tone, and turned around guiltily.

"Bobby, you can't go out by yourself. It's not safe."

"I rode my bike—er," Bobby faltered at the disapproving glare leveled at him and changed tactics. "But Hank wanted some Popsicles to sooth his throat!"

"Well, Hank can just—"

"And Warren wanted the latest Avengers comic!"

"Yes, but—"

"And Jean wanted some new girly magazines!"

Scott frowned. Yet, the longer he looked at Bobby, who sincerely looked as if he was only aiming to please, the harder he found it was to stay angry. The kid got him oyster crackers after all.

"...Just don't do it again, okay, Bobby? I'm sure we can all survive the rest of the week with whatever we have in the mansion."

Bobby nodded quickly in agreement, surprised he was getting away with going into town alone without a lecture. "Sure."

"BOBBY! Where's my food?"

Both the boy in question and the lean brunette winced at the booming voice of Warren Worthington the Third.

"Um. I guess I should go." Bobby turned to leave, but stopped when Scott called out to him.

Bobby looked over his shoulder curiously and was greeted with an open smile.

"Thanks for the crackers, Bobby," Scott said.

Bobby positively beamed before he left the room.

/~/~/~/~/

It was day five of "How Bobby Drake Single-handedly Defied and/or (definitely and) Vanquished the Evil Fluvir while Everyone Else Lay Sick and Miserable in Bed Because Bobby Drake was Just That Awesome."

Bobby thought up the name himself. True story.

Bobby hummed lightly as he sliced up some apples. They were a little uneven, but Warren would just have to deal. They were sliced up with loooove after all and Bobby made it a point to tell the other that when he complained.

"You're one strange kid, Bobby," Warren said before biting into an apple slice.

Bobby straightened his back from where he sat beside Warren's bed and declared pompously that he was unique and people just didn't understand his genius.

Warren didn't deign to answer. Instead he popped the rest of the apple slice into his mouth. He then held out the plate to the other. "Would you like one?"

Bobby looked extremely pleased to be offered a piece and did indeed take one. His hand brushed across Warren's thumb as he did so and caused Warren to almost drop the plate.

"Jesus, Bobby! Turn down the air a bit, will you?"

Bobby frowned. "Huh?"

"You're hands are freezing," Warren scowled, plate on his lap as he rubbed his thumb with his other hand.

Bobby scoffed. "They're always cold, War. You know that."

Warren frowned, his hands falling back around the dish. "I guess."

"ANYWAY, did you finish reading Avengers? Wasn't Captain America awesome in this issue?"

"If you substitute Iron Man with Captain America, then yes, Iron Man was awesome."

"What? No way!"

They continued (to bicker) their discussion deep into the afternoon.

/~/~/~/~/

Bobby felt an odd tickle in his throat as he spent some time with Jean. Later, he drank some water until it went away.

/~/~/~/~/

"Bobby...Bobby?"

Bobby groggily blinked his eyes open to see Hank a few inches from his face. He yelped, and was surprised enough that he fell off the side of Hank's bed with a (very dignified) thump.

Hank peered over the edge of his mattress looking apologetic. "Bobby, are you all right?"

Bobby sat up with a wince. "Um, yep, all appendages accounted for. I think."

Hank smiled at his friend's antics, before offering him a hand up from the ground. Bobby readily accepted and jumped back onto the other's bed. Bobby yawned. "So what did I miss?"

"You missed Thorwald's dastardly attempt at Jeff's life."

"Ah, yes, I think I'll invest in a camera and flash all my would-be attackers. Wait. That sounded less creepy in my head."

Hank laughed. "Indeed." Hank watched as Bobby let loose another yawn and glanced over to his desk clock to see that it was only half past seven at night. Well, he supposed taking care of four people for an entire week could easily tire one out. He therefore suggested that Bobby have an early night tonight. He was surprised when the boy agreed without protest.

"'Night, Hank," Bobby said, giving Hank a quick hug. "Feel better."

Hank returned the hug. "Good night, Bobby. Get some rest. You deserve it."

Bobby offered him a sleepy smile before hopping off the bed and jogging out of the door.

/~/~/~/~/

Bobby felt weird.

He was tired, could barely drag himself out of his warm bed this morning despite having slept more than ten hours the previous night and the night before that. He was icing up things involuntarily as well and nearly had his head bitten off when he covered Warren's throw blanket with an inch of snow this morning. Bobby frowned down into the torn pieces of his uneaten grilled cheese sandwich. It wasn't as if he had done it on purpose.

Not feeling very hungry, Bobby hopped off the kitchen stool and experienced vertigo. He staggered into the counter, his plate slipping from his fingers and falling with a loud crash onto the floor. He stared dumbly at the pieces of porcelain, noticing how they grew larger and larger as he lowered himself slowly to the floor, his legs unable to support his weight any longer. He reached for a broken piece intent on cleaning up the mess and for the first time noticed that he was shaking. He stared at his hands, an odd sense of dread washing over him.

This wasn't right. Something was wrong. Something—

"Bobby? What's going on down there?"

Scott. Scott would know what to do.

"Bobby?"

Hank would know what was wrong.

Bobby opened his mouth, intending to call his friends' names, but coughed instead. A dry, wracking cough that shook his already shivering frame. He slid down further until he was lying completely on his side, the cool surface of the linoleum a relief against his heated brow.

When did it get so hot?

A gasp. "Bobby!"

Familiar deft hands fell onto his shoulder, his brow. Bobby was having a really hard time staying focused.

"Bobby?"

"Let's get him upstairs."

The last thing Bobby was aware of was being lifted and then nothing at all.

/~/~/~/~/

He was floating in a molten lake of lava, and even if he wasn't, Bobby sure felt like he was.

He'd never felt this hot before in his life, not even that time Warren had dropped him off in the middle of the Mojave Desert for twenty minutes because he thought it was funny. Someone was whimpering and the noise finally stopped when he felt a cool weight atop his forehead.

"Why didn't we..."

"His powers were..."

"...I knew he was..."

Bobby fell back asleep.

/~/~/~/~/

When he woke up next, his entire body was aching. It hurt and was uncomfortable and he felt _miserable_.

And if he thought things couldn't get any worse, to his horror, he started to cry.

Almost immediately someone arrived at his side, stroking his hair and making light crooning sounds. Through the haze in Bobby's mind, he deduced that it had to be Jean. If it were anyone else, he'd be seriously creeped out.

"Oh Bobby, everything will be okay. You'll feel better soon."

Jean brushed the tears off of Bobby's cheeks and the boy watched her through bleary eyes. "You promise?" he asked, his breath hitching.

Jean nodded solemnly. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Stick a needle...in my eye," Bobby finished, his voice a bare whisper as his eyes fell shut again.

Jean smiled, reassured by the other's ability to complete the saying. "Sleep well, Bobby."

/~/~/~/~/

Bobby's mind was alert enough the next time he woke to know that he needed to go to the bathroom. He sat up, pushed his covers off, and noted the sleeping forms of Scott, Hank, and Warren surrounding his bed. Bobby eyed them a second longer, before he crawled to the end of his mattress, stepped off his bed, and promptly collapsed onto the carpeted floor.

Bobby wasn't exactly sure what happened, but that wasn't part of the plan at all.

"Bobby! What are you doing?" Scott demanded (and only Scott. Curse you Hank for being such a heavy sleeper! And thank _you_ Warren for cooperating for once) in a harsh whisper, staring down at his young charge.

Bobby blinked. "To the bathroom I go. To go, I must."

Scott's nostril's flared as he huffed out an exasperated breath. "Wake me up next time," he said as he helped the younger boy up.

"Sorry," Bobby mumbled into his t-shirt as he was led out of his room and to the bathroom.

When Scott walked inside with him, Bobby gave him a suspicious look. "What are you doing?"

Scott had the decency to flush, but said defensively, "Making sure you're okay."

Bobby stared. "Um, yea, Scott. I got this. Like ever since I was potty trained. I'm a big boy now."

Scott threw up his hands in the universal sign of being fed up and exited the bathroom, muttering all the while. "You weren't such a big boy two days ago..."

Bobby registered the words with dawning horror. "What?" he shouted, or at least he attempted to, but in the end merely strained his throat and set off a coughing attack.

Scott barreled right back through the bathroom door, eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

Bobby waved his hands as he choked out his response, "Oh my god, please leave. The humiliation. You're killing me. I'm dying."

Scott took the hint, did an about-face, and stalked back out the door.

Bobby gripped the bathroom counter and stared at his reflection. He looked horrible: pale as anything, stringy hair that wasn't so much a light brown as a murky black, and it looked like someone punched him in the face—in both eyes. He stared at himself a bit longer before turning to the toilet.

I _am_ a big boy. I am, I am. See, no hands—whoa, not a good idea.

/~/~/~/~/

A few days later...

"Hey, Hank?"

"Yes, Bobby."

"Why'd I get sick? I mean, why now and not when you guys did?"

Hank lowered the book he was reading and placed it on the nightstand besides Bobby's bed. "We believe your powers may have hidden the fact that you were first showing signs of the flu, so you may as well have been ill this entire time, though maybe a few days later than the rest of us."

Bobby paused from sipping more soup. "My powers?"

Hank nodded. "I believe your powers were compensating for the fact that your body temperature was elevating and brought it back down to normal levels. It was not until you were very ill that your powers were compromised and you were overwhelmed by the virus."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully as he continued eating his meal.

"I must apologize, Robert."

The blonde shot him a puzzled look. "For what?"

Hank glanced down at his hands, unable to meet the other's eyes. "I had a feeling there was something amiss, but I did not act on my instincts, and for that I apologize."

"That's poppycock, Hank. No one knew. Not even me."

Hank continued to stare moodily into his lap. "It was frightening to see you that day, Bobby. I do not think I will ever forget." The image of his young friend shivering, unawares, on the kitchen floor came to mind and chilled Hank to the bone.

Hank started when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and lifted his eyes to meet brown ones. "I'm sorry I scared you, Hank, and thank you for taking care of me." Bobby's smile was sincere (when was it ever not) and soon enough, Hank found himself smiling as well. He lifted his left hand and placed it over Bobby's.

"Just returning the favor, my friend."

They both shared a small, slightly awkward (at the mushiness) smile before the light atmosphere was broken by Warren's shrill yell.

"BOBBY DRAKE! Did you _write_ in my Avengers comics?"

Bobby's eyes widened comically before he lifted his dinner tray and handed it to Hank. Hank took it without protest. Plopping back down on his bed, Bobby curled away from his bedroom door and shut his eyes. "I'm feeling kind of nauseous, Hank. I'm going to try to sleep it off, but could you let anyone who asks know that I might throw up on them if I'm disturbed even the teensiest of bits? Kthanksbye."

Hank shook his head in amusement, smiling all the while as he stood up. "Good night, Bobby. I hope you feel better."

Hank's only answer was a loud, exaggerated snore.

It was, in fact, business as usual at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

End


End file.
